The Hearts Record
by Byakuei
Summary: Mostly AU. Collection of RozexUlrika shots with many different outlooks and plots, stories and lives. For the love of this pair, this is dedicated to Mana Khemia fans who support Rozeluxe and Ulrika in all types and form. Expect many genres and different ratings. Rated T to be safe.
1. Winter's Hold

**A/N: Hey guys, you might not care, but I'm starting a collection of RozexUlrika oneshots, drabbles and whatever I can come up with. I get really tired of writing about just one story so this is for me to get away and release my love for this couple. I am still planning to continue my other fics, but I need a diversion so here it is.**

**Just to let you guys know, this is AU and so will be most of my writings. Not every story will be happy, cute and fluffy. Expect...other genres.**

**Here goes the first story of my collection.**

**Story centers around Roze in this one. I will let you know if any other characters are involved, otherwise, I probably won't use his name or Ulrika's for that matter lol.**

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**_Winter's Hold_**

**oOo**

**O.O.O.O**

**xx**

**x**

**ii**

**o**

The cold bites deep into his skin as he trails his finger against wintered glass. Thick clear trails uncloud the seemingly frosted window allowing just pieces of forestry into his slitted eyes.

It's dark and unclear and the winds bellow like the howling of a starving wolf, a cry for salvation that he does not intend to extend a hand.

Alone but unafraid, the young man traveled through countless countries to find solace in a slightly rundown cabin. With peace of mind at the tip of his fingers, the sensation leaves him breathless and cold, yet free and untamed.

Long had he lost the need for companionship, so much so that his travels were effective and callous in areas concerning battle. A war carved veteran would cry at the sight of him, not out of fear but of admonishment for even lost soldiers could not forsake humanity and humans in turn.

So why was a man such as he, so young, brave and gallant, shallow and empty to the depths of his eyes?

In a single lifetime, what warrant had he to carry the hallows of despair?

But he breathes the winter air, cold yet alive, empty of thoughts and empty at heart, while flames dance in the fireplace enticing him into beloved memories that lay deep within the back of his mind.

His breath hitches when the flame flickers, almost as if it knows what he's thinking, a plan to exploit his insecurities. He shields his eyes from the flame, but it doesn't stop him from thinking, from remembering years worth of memories.

He doesn't want to admit why he's here because he just wants to run away. He doesn't like the thought of being depraved of his things even though he has almost nothing. He doesn't like to pry because it's the only way to let things stay buried in the crevices of his heart.

But it still doesn't stop him from reminiscing about his lost seasons.

He doesn't want to remember the youth of spring nor the warmth of summer, not even the colors of autumn.

It only serves as a reminder of all that he fought for and lost, gained and given up.

Because the personification of seasons once ruled his world and livened his day, but it is lost to him now.

And yet once upon a time, green orbs as luscious and dewy as grass he thought to be the holder of spring, so lively and rich with visions of the future.

Violent shades of red would make up boundless measures of energy, so raw and hot that his skin tingled from the lightest touch. It wrapped him completely and achingly dispensing in him the pleasures and passions of the hottest summer.

Yet only the calmest and lightest of yellows could smooth away his aches and burns. A bundle of sunkiss yellow once mellowed out his anger, his frustrations, in the form of long choppy strands that shined brighter than gold. It made his reminiscent of autumn because he would press his face into the soft bundle of strands and take in his favorite earthly scent, leaving him calm and spent.

It is no lie to say that he once adored the seasons, because each new day was something he could not wait to see.

The rise of his morning was a glory to behold and the afternoon rays were his guide and hope. The setting sun would call him home and the night would bring him back to sweet serenity.

But now the story of seasons are lost to him.

Only winter's cold embrace keeps him from screaming away his sanity for that is the one thing he had yet to forsake.

He wants to leave it all in the past and forsake time as well.

But time doesn't play nicely, it never has.

Spring, summer, fall, and winter again, the seasons revolve in an endless cycle so long as time itself is endless. He just won't notice or at least he will pretend not to.

The reason for his way of thinking is quite simple.

The frost ensures that spring will never come, the harsh winds will protect him from the reaches of summer, and the death of life means autumn is gone.

Yes, he aims to protect himself from any sort of salvation, because salvation was lost in his very arms.

He'd decided that cold was the best medicine, because nothing could heal his heart, only slowly dull out the lies and corruption in him with bitterness that leaves him in distaste.

And he'd live forever in this winter because time is not his ally. It will continue to move on without him leaving him mentally frozen in his wake.

And he finds irony in his living to forget, because nothing can ever be forgotten, but he still tries to bury it all underneath heavy snow.

The howling winds begin to die into a slow sad song, one that leaves him aching in silence. The windows are visibly white, allowing not a speck of shadow to enter. Behind him the flames glow weaker and frail, trembling and overwhelmed by an invisible force.

He wraps his arms around himself as the brisk air caresses his shivering body, inviting him into a final vision.

Winter is his last memory as he holds her in his arms, trembling at her pale sight as spring vanishes from her eyes. The cold of her body sinks into his skin and frosts around his heart, leaving no room for summer, and the brightness of her autumn colors dim to the color of death.

It is then that he embraces winter and has never let go.

**TT**

**ll**

**o=O=o**

**ll**

**o**

**ll**

**o**

**V**

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**End**

**A/N: Let me know what you guys think or if you have a suggestion. If you have an idea, I will take some time to try and write something for you. If you have criticism, that is welcome as well because my writing is not perfect and I admit that sometimes I don't even know what I'm writing lol. I like to sound smart, but it doesn't mean I am, but I try XD**

**And sorry for taking so much space with the little letter inserts, I was really bored.**


	2. Moonlight Angel

**A/N: Ulrika's turn! Enjoy.**

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Angels have wings.

Or so they are often depicted. Ulrika stares puzzled at the enlarged picture of a man surrounded by stray feathers caught in a windstorm underneath a moonlit sky. She assumes that he is meant to be an angel of some sort.

She sets down the latest issue of a popular celebrity gossip magazine she picks up from the music store. Examining the cover page, a man with dazzling blue hair and eyes wearing a cold expression highlights the front page. Debuting just months ago, the artist's music video took the number one spot on the charts becoming the current center of news. After months of endless squealing, Ulrika gives in to her friends' demands and worship for the celebrity, ready to listen to his song for the first time since its release.

The album lay in front of her on a white counter pairing with a set of headphones ready for her sampling.

In all honesty, she isn't the least bit interested in the artist, but his song, 'Key', enchants her. She shivers at the dark tone present in the song, yet finds a strong pull as his words search for a light in the dark of life's mysteries. She pictures him underneath the moon's grace falling from the sky, wondering where his wings have gone.

She doesn't finish listening because her phone vibrates pass her layer of jeans to let her know she is late late to the cursing herself, Ulrika sets the headphones down and rushes out of the store. She would be damned if she misses her flight after much planning and arguing to get some vacation time.

She misses it.

In the late of night, cold depression hangs thickly in the air as Ulrika trudges down the lamp lighten street, dragging her feet against concrete wearing down her soles. She sighs inwardly pulling the small luggage behind her as she makes it back to the comforts of her home, takes a bath and readies herself for sleep, waiting another day to catch the next flight.

...That is, until she hears rummaging against her front door. She is suppose to be away, a perfect chance to commit theivery.

Peering through her blinds, she notices a silhouette looming on her doorstep. The figure frightens Ulrika, plaguing her mind illy.

It opens and the stranger is inside.

Her head rings in alarm as the man makes his way into her home all too easily. She doesn't take another second to think about making the vase in her room a weapon.

As the man creeps through the hall, Ulrika inches closer to the side of the door, readying for the moment he enters.

He does...and he never sees it coming. The vase flies straight into the back of his head, instantly taking him out.

The body sprawls against the floor, cheeks hard pressing into the wood and all Ulrika can utter is the Goddess' name in vain. The man is out cold.

In the same time span, her phone sets off causing her to jump three feet in the air. She makes for a grab, but her hands are too shakey so she drops it on her bed. She tries once again and succeeds, checking it to see a text that sends Ulrika into hysterics.

'Forgot to tell you before you left. I'm lending your place to my cousin. He has the extra 'key'. -Chloe.'

Her eyes are now buggy, the affects of being unable to wrap her mind around the situation.

She shuffles over to the man laying on her bedroom floor and flips him over to check for a pulse.

Thankfully the man is breathing. No blood either. She sighs in relief knowing he would survive with a possible concussion.

Wait a minute.

She glances once more at the man noticing him to be oddly familiar. Has she met him before? No, she didn't recognize him in any recent events. So why does he...?

And it hits her like a ton of bricks.

Cool blue hair tinted lightly like the sky sloshing messily over clear pale skin. She reaches over brushing the hair softly away from his face.

There is no doubt about it.

It is HIM! The singer of 'Key'!

What stage name does he go by?

It is Roze, right?

A string of questions cloud her thought, paralyzing her with fear, panic, and guilt.

She flinches when she hears painful groans erupt from his being.

His eyes flicker open halfway revealing slitted gorgeous seafoam orbs, but remains unfocused...unclear.

It's dark and quiet, and he lay beside the remnants of her white vase...almost as if he were taken by a storm.

Her mouth runs dry making it hard to speak, but words would do no good. Seeing him in person, on her floor amongst white flecks and a coat of darkness...only a thought came to mind.

A fallen angel.

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**End of Chapter.**

**A/N: IMPORTANT! DO YOU KNOW DAISUKE ONO? Well, he voices Roze in the japanese version! Why am I bringing this up? Because the song 'Key' is actually his song. It is the opening for Psychic Detective Yakumo/Shinrei Tantei Yakumo, an anime with Daisuke Ono playing the male lead, Yakumo. It's one of my favorites songs and it inspired me to write this. If you want to hear it, now you can!**


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